


Dignity, Faith, Pride

by starsandsands



Series: Not Cut Out to Face This World Alone [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek and Stiles are Grandparents, Derek and Stiles are Silver Foxes, Derek and Stiles are parents, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Family Feels, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, SO MANY OC's, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, alternating pov, father-daughter bonding, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9965171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsands/pseuds/starsandsands
Summary: When Stiles was still around, he'd been a bridge to the gap between his husband and youngest daughter. His death had just separated them further, turning the gap into a hollow canyon, impossible to cross.





	1. April 2, 2046

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first two chapters back in 2012-2013 while dealing with some pretty heavy personal stuff. I haven’t really been active in TW fandom since then so assume it’s an AU after season 2.

When Stella was little, her Papa always would tell her that she was special, and that there was someone out there for her. When she was curious or sad, he would tell stories about her Somebody, that he'd met her Somebody in a dream long before she was born and they were perfect for her.

 

“I can't tell you everything about them,” he'd say, “It would ruin the surprise.”

 

When she was 13 and love-sick and miserable because the boy she was _in love_ with never even noticed her existence, he told her, “Your Somebody doesn't make you special. You make your Somebody special, and if that boy can't recognize it, then he isn't your Somebody.” Then he told her about how ridiculous he was following her Aunt Lydia around before he'd met her father. She would roll her eyes at him because surely they had to be exaggerated. It was blindingly obvious how perfect her aunt and uncle were for each other. Her parents on the other hand, she wasn't sure about.

 

Stella knew how much her Papa loved her Dad, but she never thought that they were perfect for each other. They'd fought constantly since the earliest she could remember. She could hear the hushed whispers, but never could make out exactly what they were saying without the superior werewolf hearing that her siblings had. When Stella begged them to tell her what they were saying, they would refuse, looking at her with sad eyes.

 

Papa would find her after he was done fighting with Dad for the moment, and smile sadly, soothing her with happy stories about their family or her Somebody. Sometimes, when Dad made her Papa cry, he'd tell Stella about happier times with him, about how much he loved her Dad, and that even if your Somebody made you sad sometimes, it was nothing in comparison to how happy they could make you feel other times.

 

Stella misses these stories intensely, but not as much as she misses her Papa. He's been dead for exactly three years, today. Standing near his grave in the rain with the rest of her family, she sees her older sister Dianna bury her face in her mate's shoulder. Stella feels bitter, because he was there for so much more of her brothers and sisters' lives than hers and he'll never see her graduate high school, or walk her down the aisle when she finally meets her Somebody.

 

Growing up, she'd regretted being born a human, but three years after he'd died, she wishes that she'd never been born at all, never had been the cause of so much strife in her family, never been the cause of her Papa's death. He'd died protecting her, because she was stupid enough to not have been born a werewolf.

 

She feels numb as she watches her Dad kneel in front of the tombstone, whispering something that sounds suspiciously like “I'm sorry.” There never was a body recovered, but the were members of the pack all felt the moment that he died, and there was too much blood at the scene for Papa to have survived. Stella had been knocked out before the exact moment it happened, and woke wrapped in her Papa's sweater, covered in blood.

 

Stella never thought about finishing the job that the faeries hadn't, because her Papa's death would have been in vain. Besides, Papa would have been disappointed in her even thinking about that kind of thing. Every day that he'd been alive, he would tell her how much he loved her, how proud of her she was. He was fiercely protective of her, and whenever the idea of administering the Bite to her would come up, he would be furious.

 

“Stella is perfectly fine the way she is!” Papa would tell whoever had suggested giving Stella the Bite, “She was born this way for a reason. I'm not a wolf either, so don't look down on us like there's something to fix. This pack needs us humans to keep balance.”

 

This marks the first year since Papa's death that Dad actually has come to the grave, like it's the first time that Dad has accepted that Papa's actually dead. _It's too late!_ Stella wants to tell him, as he apologizes profusely to the marble headstone. _You never trusted him when he was alive, and now he's gone and you can't apologize because he's dead!_ She'll never actually say anything to him, communicating with him is mostly done through other pack members or through post-it notes left around the house. The only time she ever actually speaks to him is when he grounds her for staying out too late or if she's been disciplined in school.

 

Stella spends more time at the houses of her aunts and uncles anyway, hanging out with the other members of her generation in the Hale Pack. She has steady gigs babysitting her niece and nephews, even the ones who are probably old enough to be babysitting themselves. Her aunts and uncles are always whispering around her, still walking around on tip-toes after the three years since her Papa's been gone, but at least she can earn some extra cash out of their pity.

 

\- - - -

 

Derek mourns every day. He doesn't think it can absolve him of all the wrong he's done, or even shrink the void left from his mate's death, but he mourns every day anyway. Today, on the anniversary of Stiles' death, it hits him harder than other days, but he's been used to that since his first family died in the fire. He mourns for his lost family, for his mate, and now his youngest daughter.

 

It was Lydia who first brought up the idea that Stella was edging away. She'd always been quiet around him, preferring Stiles to him in her younger days, but Derek had been fine with that arrangement. Stella is something that he'd never had much experience with, a fragile human daughter, so he'd tended to let Stiles handle her more.

 

Derek's elder children were all werewolves, like the children of Alphas were supposed to be. Stella had been the first human born to an Alpha in centuries, and others in the supernatural community doubted his paternity. Derek had even doubted it a little for a while after it was clear Stella would never transform. Some born werewolves don't manifest for a while, and he'd been hoping that she'd be like her elder brother Ben, who'd finally manifested at 3, directly after his younger brother Michael manifested. They'd tried everything to get her to manifest, but all it ended in was a crying toddler and an agitated Stiles.

 

After months of Derek's suspicions, Stiles finally broke down.

 

“She's your daughter, and you're hurting everyone in the pack by even thinking differently!” Derek attempted to protest, but Stiles had been long past the point of interruption. “I'd be more offended that you can't trust your mate of almost 15 years if it wasn't for Stella. Do you know she asked me today why Daddy doesn't like her? I had to lie to her and tell her that you love her, but I don't think that you do!”

 

After that, Derek tried to be more accessible to her, but he'd always been afraid of breaking her. She was tiny and weak, even smaller than other human children in the pack had been at her age. Stiles' father confirmed that Stiles had been the same, but Derek was still uncomfortable with her.

 

Derek has stayed the Alpha of the pack for Stella, and also because Lauren won't be ready to take over the title until Stella at least graduates college. Stella is out all the time, and Derek knows that it's unfair to be stricter with her curfews and where she's allowed to go than he'd been with his other four children, but she makes him so protective. He thinks about Stiles' last night, and how close the faeries had been to killing her as well, and it makes his vision go red. Stella is still his precious baby girl and even though they'd never been close, he loves her fiercely.

 

She'd always tended towards Stiles, and without him, it seems to Derek she's drifting. He'd been so caught up in mourning that he'd almost forgotten that she would mourn as well. She's just like Stiles, but quieter without the persistent itch of ADHD under her skin and the Sheriff had once remarked that she reminded him of his late wife. Part of why it's hard for Derek to be near her is because she's a reminder of what he's lost, and it hurts. Lydia's comments sting worse, bringing back memories of Stiles' angry tears.

 

“It's like you live in the same house but not the same universe. She only goes home to sleep, and sleeps over at our house more often than not.” He tries to protest but realizes that her words ring true, and he has no idea how to fix it. When Stiles was still around, he'd been a bridge to the gap between his husband and youngest daughter. His death had just separated them further, turning the gap into a hollow canyon, impossible to cross.

 

“Nothing is impossible,” Stiles would have told him. He'd probably strong-arm Stella and Derek into the same room, chastise them and quote Yoda, making them both laugh and hug it out. Stiles had been a big fan of hugs between family and pack members. Derek can't remember the last time he'd even been close enough to touch Stella, let alone hugged her.

 

Somewhere, he knows Stiles is yelling at him for abandoning their daughter. He's got to think of something he can do to begin patching the hole between Stella and himself.

 

\- - - -

 

Stella is holed up in her room, reading and listening to her music as loudly as she can without offending her dad. Last time it'd been too loud, he'd burst in, eyes flickering red around the very edges and told her that she would lose her car keys if she did kept it up. She immediately turned it off, packed up her belongings and headed to the library to study. On the way there, the music had been so loud it rattled the car's mirrors.

 

She hears a soft knock at her door, and as she turns the music off, the door opens and her father enters.

 

“I turned it off!” Stella says, attempting to keep her glare to a minimum. She doesn't want to piss him off, especially with the weekend coming up. “I have to keep the keys, I have library books due on Saturday and Mrs. Gerber hates me enough that she'd give me higher late fees.”

 

“I'm not here about the music, I just-” he starts, then pushes a hand through his gray hair and sighs. “I thought it would be nice if we could have dinner together, just us, y'know?”

 

They don't eat in the same room unless any of her siblings are visiting, there is a pack dinner or they happen to be passing each other through the kitchen. She eyes him suspiciously and wonders aloud, “Why?”

 

She remembers cooking with the entire family when she was younger, Papa directing the entire family through the kitchen, herself and her siblings scrambling to do what he asked, Dad in charge of cooking all kinds of meat and on occasion, dessert. There's just something wrong with a silent kitchen, empty of the business that a large family creates. She wants to avoid that loneliness tonight, drown her feelings in her books and music.

 

\- - - -

 

Derek can’t help the glare that forms on his face. When he sees the answering glare start to form on Stella’s, he stops and takes a breath.

 

“We should enjoy the time we’ve got left together,” he says, and her face blanches. “Before you head to college,” he adds, wishing he hadn’t reminded her of Stiles’ death.

 

She nods her head and slowly moves around her room, tidying her books and putting on her slippers. They head downstairs towards the kitchen and Derek thinks about the meals they would make as a family when Stiles was still alive. Now all they really use it for is the rare pack dinners or when his older children visit with their families.

 

He’d already sautéed some chicken before he went up to find Stella, and it was still on the stove, simmering in its sauce. Wordlessly, Stella moves to the freezer and got out a bag of frozen vegetables for a side. Derek smiles, remembering how Stiles obsessed over ensuring their family ate healthily, even with the wolfiness, because “there’s a family history of heart issues!” It must have stuck with Stella, so much like her Papa, even without his influence for the past three years.

 

They move through the kitchen silently, and Derek’s at a loss for words. He can’t remember the last time they’d actively spent time together in the past three years without the influence of packmates or family. He dishes out the chicken onto two plates and Stella places the vegetables onto them afterwards. They grab their plates and sit side by side at the large island he and Stiles had picked out so many years ago.

 

Derek attempts to start up a conversation, about Stella’s choices for college. “I know I’ve seen a couple of acceptance letters come through, Star, and I was wondering what you’ve decided-”

 

“Don’t call me that,” she spits out, eyes furious. The hair on the back of his neck rises, and he feels his eyes darken.

 

“I’m your father and I may address you as I like.”

 

“You can’t call me Star,” she repeats through gritted teeth. “That was Papa’s name for me. You never cared for your _human_ child when he was around, don’t start now.” She stands up and moves like she’s ready to bolt out the side door.

 

Derek can’t remember what he says to her, but he feels claws prick into his clenched fists and tries to count his breaths carefully. She turns and stomps up the stairs.

 

He cleans up their plates, trying to slow his heart rate. He’ll talk to her when they’ve both calmed down. He’s learned that if he tries something now, they’ll only hurt each other worse. Their relationship is too badly damaged as it is. Stiles would have been so disappointed.

 

\- - - -

 

Stella storms up to the attic, because she'd been expressly forbidden from leaving the house on “tonight of all nights, goddammit Stella”. Dad had put a lot of Papa’s stuff up here after he’d passed, daily reminders of Papa being too hard for her Dad to bear. Stella enjoys it up here, feeling closer to Papa amidst his belongings. She finds a notebook at the bottom of a box of photo albums that she’s never seen before. She usually only gets to the second box in the stack, never delving this far into the past.

 

 _For my Heart and Star_ it reads in familiar handwriting, like her Papa’s was. It’s obviously been up here since before the twins were even born, maybe even before her parents had gotten together, if the organization of the things in the box went from newest to oldest top to bottom, as she suspects.

 

She gently opens the notebook, hearing the the spine crack after years of disuse.

 

 It reads

 

> _My darlings,_  

> _I am sorry for what I have put you through, but know that it was necessary. I was taken from you on April 2, 2043, but am currently writing you from the year 2013 and trying my hardest to get home._

 

The notebook drops from her hands, and her vision begins to darken around the edges. Her pulse is pounding in her ears, her face flushed and sweat prickling at her brow. It has to be a fake, something magicked up by the faeries to mess with their family, add insult to injury. Her  dad finds her there, having heard the familiar sounds of a panic attack.

 

“Stella, what’s going on?” he asks, actually concerned for once, wrapping her in his arms. She points to the notebook on the floor in front of her, unable to speak. His eyes flicker over to it, and he picks it up, inspecting it. He scans the first page, and she watches the emotions play on his face.

 

“Do you know what this is? Did you put this here?” he asks, his eyebrows beginning to get an angry slant in them. She shakes her head, and he drops next to her. They read through the notebook together, and on the inside of the back cover there is a note in slightly different handwriting.

 

 

 

> _Hey, 2013 Stiles here to end this! Mystery Future Silver Fox Stiles was very mysterious about this whole thing but I do know that you are very important to him. He vanished back to you about an hour ago to me and woah time travel, right? I hope that you guys get this whole thing settled quickly because losing a family member is ridiculously awful, and I am all for minimizing your trauma. Future Stiles was frantic to get back to you, so don’t be mad that he accepted his fate. The events had to happen the way they did so that he (we?) could go back to you the way you are. He loves you very much, and I’m very excited to meet you. Please try to follow the instructions exactly, because if you don’t, bad bad things will happen._
> 
> _\- M. Stilinski 2013_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Bayside’s “Blame it on Bad Luck”.


	2. April 2, 2013

Stiles is going to be turning 18 in a little less than a week, which he is both ridiculously excited and slightly scared for. He’s had the whole day pretty much planned out for him, ever since he and Derek started their relationship a few months ago. There’d been one awkward attempt at orgasms that his father had walked in (luckily before any clothes had come off) early on into their acceptance that the whole mildly antagonistic sometimes friends, sometimes allies thing had turned into more (aided by a bad strain of wolfsbane that had all of the wolves in the pack telling the absolute truth). While the night had begun with making out on Stiles’ couch, it had ended with the Sheriff instating the “clothes on, hands off” rule until Stiles was eighteen (which Derek had wholeheartedly supported, that bastard).

 

On his actual birthday, there was going to be a barbecue, followed by a night dancing at Jungle. He was to spend the night before his birthday watching movies at home with Derek, and at midnight, they’d take it up to his room, where he would finally be a man in most senses of the word, something that completely terrified him. 

 

Which is why Stiles is alone in the woods almost exactly a week before the big night, the first Sunday of Beacon Hills High’s spring break. Part of it is that he’s been cockblocked at every chance by his own boyfriend, and the other part is he’s super freaked out.  His “spark” (or “magic”, “talent”, “gift”, whatever the villain of the week decides to call it) has started to freak out as well with all of the tension and nerves, causing things to vibrate, fly across the room and sometimes even spontaneously combust (once!) Deaton had been cryptic as ever, suggesting that he go commune with nature by himself for awhile, in order realign his chakras or whatever. (Stiles had kind of zoned out at that point because Derek was in the room, intensely focused on Deaton’s words, and seriously blue balls are the  _ worst. _ )

 

He’s trekked through the Preserve to a place that Derek had ensured would lead to a safe, secluded place and set up camp for the night, and is now attempting to meditate, when he hears a loud noise, followed by swearing. He immediately rises, reaching for the knife in his pocket, and follows the sounds of someone crashing through bushes and trees.

 

The voice is kind of familiar, and once he sees the figure, he stops. The man kind of looks like his dad, but different somehow, maybe slightly younger. Once the man gets close, he stops swearing and his eyes brighten.

 

Eyes that look exactly like Stiles’ eyes.

 

“Stiles! It’s so great to see you!” the man calls, and Stiles is definitely confused.

 

“Who are you?” Stiles asks, and the man chuckles.

 

“Okay, you shouldn’t freak out. But, like faeries are real? And they kind of sent me here, not for nefarious purposes, I swear! At least on my part.”

 

“Okay, faeries suck, who are you?”

 

“ _ I’m you, from the future _ ,” he says, wiggling his fingers at Stiles. “I’ve been waiting like thirty years to say that, you don’t know how good that feels. Well, you will.”

 

“You sound insane.”

 

“Do you want me to prove it to you?” the man says, reaching for the hemline of his shirt, as if to take it off.

 

"Whoa, slow down there cowboy. What are you doing?" Stiles asks, averting his eyes.

 

"I'm showing you the scar we got when we crashed our bike into that tree when we were eight. The one that kind of looks like Italy?" he says, and the shirt comes off and wow, is that really what Stiles is going to look like in thirty years? Because he is seriously werewolf-level ripped at almost fifty and how is that even possible? And also there is a really cool looking tattoo on his back and- the man turns so Stiles can't fully see the tattoo and points to the scar on his ribcage that is identical to Stiles', though it is slightly faded. Yep, definitely an older version of Stiles physically, but how about mentally? 

 

He opens his mouth to ask, but his older counterpart gets to it first.

 

"Our darkest secret is that we accidentally knocked over Scott's gerbil's cage when we were pet sitting it that one time he went to visit his dad, not that it ran away when we were cleaning its cage. Also Scott totally wet the bed after we watched that zombie movie but we took the blame for it because that's what bros do," the man who is apparently the older version Stiles _ and psychic _ recites, before Stiles has even asked the question. "And no, I'm not psychic, I'm from the future. Also you might want to leave a note around so you can remind yourself. The look on your face is hilarious." Definitely him then. Also, he will be awesome in thirty years, Stiles is super looking forward to that.

 

“Okay, now that I know you’re… me, what do we need to get done? Like it’s cool to see you but you definitely don’t belong here and-”

 

“You don’t want to get caught up in too much trouble the week before the big night. I get you, man.” Older Stiles completes, and  _ whoa _ time travel is weird and amazing.

 

“Speaking of the big night…” Stiles starts and his older counterpart cuts him off with a look.

 

“Dude you know that I can’t really say anything about the future. We don’t want to screw anything up, you know, rules of time travel.” Stiles’s face must be extremely pathetic looking because he adds, “Don’t worry about it, it’s awesome! God I was so young, I can’t believe…” he trails off, remembering his previous rule. “Uh, actually, can we head back to camp and eat something? Time travel takes a lot out of you.”

 

“Yeah sure!” Stiles says and ushers him towards his campsite, biting back a million more questions. (What’s his life like in the future? What’s his relationship with Derek like? Does he have kids? Is his dad still around? What about the pack?)

 

“Oh man, I miss being able to eat whatever I want,” the older Stiles groans as Stiles serves him up some snacks.

 

“Oh no, do we get Dad’s health problems?” Stiles blurts before he can stop himself.

 

“Luckily there’s some good side effects of magic, but I still want to watch my diet to make sure. 47 is not the most fun.” 

 

“Is Dad-”

 

“He’s around for his grandkids, don’t worry.” (Holy shit there’s kids in his future? With Derek possibly?)

 

Stiles is about to start hyperventilating when his older counterpart continues.

 

”Honestly, there’s so much I want to tell you. All I can really tell you is that life is better than you can imagine, seriously. It freaks me out sometimes, how great it is. It’s a lot of work, but our family is amazing.” (Our as in both versions Stiles? Our as in he and Derek’s?) The older Stiles frowns. ”Shit, I really need to get back. The pack has got to be freaking out.”

 

“They don’t get less protective over us?” Stiles asks, genuinely curious, brain racing in another direction.

 

“It gets worse before it can get better. But I-  _ you _ figure out how to defend yourself almost every time,” he smiles and takes a deep breath. (Stiles doesn't miss the _almost_ , but is biting his tongue because he doesn't want to fuck up the future. He's seen every movie in the  _Back to the Future_  series more times than he can count, he can do this.)

 

“My memory’s just a little foggy from the last time I did this, I think the faeries fucked with it a little. I tried looking over my notes like a month ago, but I can’t quite remember where I put them...”

 

And isn’t that freaky? He’s going to be doing this in the future. Unless whatever happened is actually so disturbing that it will scar his future family-

 

“I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t stop it from happening. It’s- I know how much you hate when people say you’ll understand when you’re older, but you’ll finally understand it when it happens, I swear.”

  
Yeah, but Stiles wants to know _now_. What in the world could possibly make him accept leaving his future to come back to now, alone save for himself? Especially if his future is supposedly better than he could imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is completed. I meant to post earlier, but I work 50-60 hours a week and wanted to double check some plot points and timelines before posting. I will continue to update Sundays, as it's my free day.


	3. April 2, 2043

Stiles is tired of fighting. He’s turning 48 in less than a week and he knows that the _event_ is happening soon. He’s tired of fighting with his pack, with monsters, most of all with his husband.

 

Though Derek finally understands why Stella is not a wolf, that Stella has inherited Stiles’ gift, he still thinks she’s too fragile. Her place in the pack is just as important as that of their other children, though he can’t see it yet.

 

He’s tried his best to train Stella, his precious Star, to get her ready. It’s unfair to his baby that she’s going to have to fight, she’s too young.

 

He was too young when the werewolf mess started, he realizes it now, watching Stella struggle with the magic simmering under the surface of her skin, the same as he did over thirty years ago. She’s even more stubborn than he was at that age, more like Derek than either she or Derek would admit.

 

The leaf that Stella had torn in two quivers in her hands as it starts to slowly heal. Sweat beads on her furrowed brow and he feels a swell of pride, with an undercurrent of fear.

 

He wonders if this is how Derek feels, training Lauren to take his role as Alpha of the pack. It’s different though, Lauren’s in her twenties and Stella’s nearly 15. Lauren has never had to deal with the weight of pack expectations and disappointment in the same way Stella has.

 

He prays and hopes and wishes that this will be enough. That he’s prepared them all for what will come. He has no idea of what exactly will happen, only that, for a brief period of time, he will be taken from his family, then returned.

 

He should have asked more questions when he was younger, time travel paradoxes be damned.

 

Stiles refocuses on Stella, the leaf in her hands is almost completely mended, now. He notices a faint tremble in her hand, then her body goes completely lax, dropping to the forest floor.

 

They come without warning, barely a breeze blows before they’re reaching for Stella and-

 

Stiles understands, what he couldn’t all those years ago. The faeries aren’t here to fuck his life up. They’re here to take Stella, his _baby_. He already knows the answer to the question they haven’t asked yet.

 

 _We will train her,_ they say in some strange language he doesn’t know how he understands. In his mind’s eye, he sees Stella grow powerful, filled with magic he can’t imagine.

 

“Back away from her,” he tells them, taking out his knife, though he knows it will not help him here.

 

 _She will be content,_ they whisper, filling his mind with images of Stella’s smiling face as she grows older, surrounded by faeries.

 

“She does not need content, she needs to stay with her family,” he says, fingers flexing around the handle.

 

 _Payment for services rendered,_ they insist. The tallest Fae gets too close to Stella and Stiles pushes himself between them, gritting his teeth.

 

What were they talking about, services rendered? A dark finger inches its way towards him and he remembers in a flash of light.

 

 

> When he was pregnant with Stella, he’d almost lost her. Some freakish creature had mauled him while he was training, before he’d even known she was there. When they’d lost Samuel, he’d sworn _never again_ and that he’d give anything to keep his children safe. The creature had attacked him in this very same wood and all he could remember in the aftermath was waking in Deaton’s office, being told the baby was just fine, not to worry.
> 
>  
> 
> Throughout the rest of his pregnancy, he’d dreamed of a meadow filled with white flowers, nine bright stars shining overhead in the clear night. He hadn’t remembered the fae dancing circles when he’d woken from the dreams, just the brightest light emanating from one of the stars. He thought it was a premonition of his child’s future, which was why he’d chosen to name her Estelle.

 

Apparently he’d unconsciously made a deal with the Fae and Stella was the payment. He feels nauseous.

 

 _She will never grow to her true potential with you at her side_ , they say. He sees her face fall, eyes brimming with tears, never truly fitting in with the pack. He sees growing resentment, failure and anger towards her family and pack.

 

“I have given her what she needs,” he tells them. “Take me and she will prove it.”

 

 _Sacrifice,_ they whisper, and the knife in his hands grows warmer.

 

He takes off his sweater and wraps Stella in it carefully, kissing her forehead. She sleeps on the forest floor, blissfully unaware of what is to come.

 

“I love you, Star. You and your Dad need to work together, and I’ll be back in no time, I swear.”

 

In his mind, they show him the runes he needs to carve for this sacrifice. His blade does not hesitate as it cuts into his flesh. Their whispers grow louder, chanting until they are a dull roar and-

 

A flash of bright light and the forest is before him once more, unchanged other than in its emptiness. His skin is healed but his heart is broken. No longer does he feel the faint buzz from the bonds of his family and pack.

  
He is alone.


	4. April 3, 2013

He dreams.

 

 

> _The white flowers sway in the cool night breeze. He brushes through them, towards a clearing._
> 
>  
> 
> _His trusty knife, coated and blessed and magicked in tape and ash and blood after years of being at his side, sits in his hand warmly._
> 
>  
> 
> _When he looks up at the sky, he sees a bright star, circled by eight smaller ones. No moon is in sight and he guides his way to the circle in the clearing by the starlight._
> 
>  
> 
> _He cuts into his palm, dripping eight drops of blood on the edges of the circle. The ground absorbs it and eight stems shoot from the ground. Each becomes a brilliant flower, all in different hues._
> 
>  
> 
> _His last drop of blood goes into the center. It grows into a large white blossom. When he inspects it closely, something is inside, something paper? He reaches in, and pulls out an ancient Tarot Card- The Star._
> 
>  
> 
> _When he looks at the outside of the circle, he notes that each flower carries a card. He goes through them, flower by flower, plucking cards-_
> 
>  
> 
> _The Chariot. The High Priestess. The Sun. Justice. Judgement. The Moon. The Wise Man. The Fool._
> 
>  
> 
> _The cards in his hand shimmer before him and-_

 

He wakes.

 

His back aches, like he’s been sleeping on the ground. Why is he camping out again, he’d told Derek they were done with this shit after Michael became an Eagle Scout-

 

A voice grumbles next to him, and the body that goes with it is too small to be Derek or either of his sons.

 

He remembers where he is now. _Stuck in 2013_.

 

Last night, he and his teenage self had stayed up talking about possible ways to send him back. Luckily, Stiles had brought a lot of magical reference texts with him on this adventure in the woods, trying to find a way to calm his magic.

 

His presence and problem had given his younger self something else to focus on, a temporary fix for the impatient buzzing of magic.

 

Unable to find a solution to his own problem after hours of debate, Stiles had led them both in a guided meditation. It had taken him years to come to terms with his energy, the itch under his skin, the call of his magic, but he’d found a way to channel it more productively. If he remembers correctly, when it was him as the teenager, it had helped way more than Deaton’s cryptic advice ever did.

 

Stiles gets up, slowly, careful of his bad knee, and climbs out of the tent, to find some coffee.

 

He pokes the fire, using a bit of his magic to make the flames roar back to life.

 

They don’t.

 

Stiles closes his eyes and tries to focus on the well of energy he visualizes his magic as. It’s not completely gone but it’s… diminished somehow. Perhaps locked away?

 

He mulls over the implications as he fixes the fire the old fashioned way, then makes a pot of coffee on the camp stove.

 

Either the fae blocked his magic, or somehow being in the same time as himself reduced his access to it. He thumbs through some of the reference texts at hand before the smell of coffee lures his teenage self out of the tent.

 

\- - - -

 

Stiles makes oatmeal and watches his older self pensively search through the books he’d lugged out to the woods for this camping trip.

 

“Any updates?” he asks, dishing out bowls for both of them.

 

“My magic’s been blocked, which complicates things a bit,” the older Stiles says after thanking him.

 

“How is that possible?”

 

“Not sure, but it eliminates Plans A-F for getting me back home.”

 

“You’re sure you actually get back home, right? Like in your timeline the older you didn’t just stick around and become like a wise hermit and father figure?”

 

“I…” the older Stiles pauses. “I don’t remember anything about how the older version of me got home. I remember meeting him and planning and then he disappeared in a flash of light. I remember packing up all the shit we used in a box and hiding it under my bed, but I don’t remember what I packed.”

 

“So… the faeries are dicks that can possibly block magic and erase memories? Awesome,” Stiles mutters.

 

“They obviously don’t want it to be too easy.”

 

“They’ve never had to deal with a Stiles when he’s met with a challenge.”

 

“Not yet they haven’t.”

 

They eat in a companionable silence, and Stiles’ mind drifts a bit. He notices a patch of white flowers a few yards away and his attention is caught. His older counterpart notices his sudden stiffening and follows his gaze.

 

There’s something about those flowers that’s so familiar…

 

The other Stiles speaks first.

 

“What did you dream about last night?”

 

“I was in a clearing of those flowers, and there was a circle of stars.”

“We shared a dream last night. I think… my memories were trying to break through. We need to write down all the details, it will help.”

 

Stiles pulls out two notebooks and two pens. He tosses the extras to his older counterpart and gets to work.

 

After they compare notes, they realize that they’re going to need to perform a ceremony.

“While I do have everything we’ll need, I didn’t bring it all out here. Some of it is still at home.”

 

His older self rubs his temples as he sets down a lunar chart. “We’ll need to get it soon, it has to happen during the new moon, which is tonight.”

 

\- - - -

 

Breaking into his childhood home while trying not to catch the attention of his neighbors was a challenge he’d figured out once, years ago.

 

Doing it with a bum knee and his younger self trying to pull him up through his window is absolutely ridiculous.

 

“Why couldn’t I just go in the back door again?” he hisses as he’s finally up and through the window.

 

“Because Dad is downstairs and I’m not supposed to be back from my trip for another three days.”

 

“What if he catches us up here?”

 

“We’ll have to be sneakier.”

 

They make their way through the list of items they figured they’d need. The tarot cards Stiles’ grandmother had brought to America from the old country, the purified salt for the circle, alcohol to sanitize the blade and any wounds.

 

“If we’re messing with a blood ritual, I don’t want to get _tetanus_ out of it,” his younger self tells him. Stiles agrees and privately thinks to himself that an infection might mess with the events of Stiles’ eighteenth birthday. The urge to advise himself about condom expiration dates rises to the forefront of his mind when he sees the box that had shown up on his bed after his dad had caught him watching porn hidden under the bed, still unopened.

 

“Why are you grinning like that?” young Stiles asks him suspiciously.

 

“I just forgot about the specifics of my life as a young man,” he replies, feeling great pleasure in being vague.

 

“You sound just like-” the teenager stops and reddens when he notices what Stiles is looking at. “Oh my god, how can this be embarrassing? I’m literally talking to myself!”

 

They hear a noise coming up the stairs and they both freeze.

  
“Okay, I’ll deal with Dad, you just need to hide.”

 

Stiles squishes himself in his old closet just in time before the bedroom door opens. Jesus, he’s too old for this. He listens carefully and feels his heart seize when he hears his dad’s voice.

 

“Stiles, I thought you were still camping,” his dad says. (It’s been too long since he’s heard him.)

 

“I uh… figured out a ritual that should help with the crazy magic thing,” the younger Stiles says, gesturing to the bag of items. “I didn’t have it all with me, so I needed to make a stop and get some stuff.”

 

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

 

“I didn’t want you to disturb you, y’know in case you were enjoying _company_ while I was out for the week,” Stiles says and he hears his dad make a gruff, embarrassed noise. He was _such_ a little shit when he was younger.

 

“I’ll be out of your hair in no time, it’s supposed to happen under a new moon, which is tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow if it works.”

 

“You don’t want to stick around for lunch?”

 

“Nah, gotta go back and get it all set up, double check everything so that I don’t accidentally send myself back in time or anything like that.” His father startles.

 

“That could… happen?”

 

“Nah, just messing with you,” Stiles soothes quickly. “I want to make sure everything’s ship-shape though. I’ll be gone in a jiffy!” Even after his dad found out about the wolves and magic, Stiles never lost his ability to lie convincingly.

 

“Use the door this time, huh?” the Sheriff says, and scans the room, looking for something out of place.

 

“Sure thing,” Stiles replies, sounding a little panicked. His dad eyes him, then shuts the door.

 

When he’s sure that they’re in the clear, Stiles opens the closet door. He kind of wants to make a joke about it when-

 

“Didn’t think you’d have to come out of the closet again in your old age?” his younger self says, and Stiles has to bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing. “Here’s the plan, I’ll distract Dad on my way out so you can climb down the drain pipe and hide in the back of the Jeep.”

 

Stiles stops smiling. He’s _way_ too old for this.

 

\- - - -

 

“Send everyone my love!” Stiles calls as he leaves his house through the front door. His dad had tried to get him to take more food, but Stiles was worried about his older self being able to make it back down and out so they could make a quick getaway.

 

When he makes it back to his Jeep, he hears the older Stiles groan, “ _Finally_.”

 

“Dude, you remember how Dad is… was? Can I even ask that? Anyway, you have to stay hidden in the back until we reach the woods. Wouldn’t be good to be spotted cavorting around town with a mysterious older gentleman. Derek might get jealous.”

 

The ride back is pleasant, with the exception of the older Stiles complaining the entire way back about his back.

 

Getting old is going to suck, so Stiles has to make sure to enjoy his youth while he can.

 

When they get back, they continue to sketch out what they need to do. Once they triple-check their calculations, they begin to set up the circle.

 

Stiles creates the salt circle, while his older counterpart carefully lays out the white flowers. Stiles draws the necessary runes and the older Stiles adds the cards. They work in tandem, silent only except for adjustments needed. Stiles stares at the circle, checking that it’s accurate.

 

Now, they wait.

 

There’s no cell reception out here, so Stiles’ usual time-waster of dicking around on his phone is out. He could go through the books one last time to quadruple-check everything so the ceremony is absolutely perfect, but the more he thinks about it, the more anxiety buzzes under his skin and-

 

“Calm down,” the older Stiles says, carefully. Stiles looks up to see the cooking equipment dancing around in a circle above the campstove. The older Stiles is sitting across the camp from him, cutting and pasting some of the articles they’d printed out into the notebook that Stiles had given him earlier.

 

“Are you scrapbooking?” Stiles asks, and it makes his older counterpart snort with quiet laughter.

 

“I’m making a map,” he answers,  “so they know what to do on the other side.” Stiles contemplates who the mysterious “they” include. The pack, obviously, if Stiles is still doing this magic stuff in the same town thirty years in the future. Derek, for sure. Maybe kids? Stiles hasn’t really thought about that, but he knows that what he and Derek have is a forever kind of deal, and kids are usually included in that.

 

“Can you tell me anything about the future at all? I just- the past few months have been uncertain and I know what I feel for Derek is the real deal, but like… I want to make sure I’m making the right choice. Like, are we happy?” Stiles asks, siding up to his older self, watching as he scribbles notes into the notebook.

 

“Absolutely,” the older Stiles replies immediately, not pausing from his work. “It’s not easy, by any means, and we’re not… ecstatic every second of the day. Derek and I still fight, it’s impossible not to, especially with who are as people. But at the end of it we’re there for each other, in all ways. It changes when you become a parent-” he stops and looks a little lost. Stiles is pretty sure he’s had this conversation before.

 

“So Derek and I have a kid together? What kind of dad is Derek? What do they call us? Do you think you can provide details or-”

 

The older Stiles smiles patiently at him. “We have an amazing family, more than just one child. I don’t want to get too specific but, they’re all fantastic children. Derek doesn’t stop being emotionally constipated but he’s good with them.” Stiles swears he hears him add “for the most part” under his breath.

 

“It’s hard, loving Derek. Building our family. But I know I’m living my best life. I’d do anything to protect them and their happiness. It’s why I’m making this, so I can get back to them as fast as possible,” he adds, gesturing towards the notebook. Stiles leans in and reads the cover.

 

_For my heart and my star_

 

“Oh my god, you have cutesy nicknames for them. I have cutesy nicknames for them?” Stiles gets lost thinking about it. He imagines Derek reading to their kids at night, before tucking them in. Derek’s hair going gray, the crinkles by his eyes when he smiles becoming permanent.

 

“Is Derek still insanely hot? Like... full on silver fox?”

 

“Way too good looking for us,” the older Stiles confirms.

 

Stiles’ mind drifts for a bit as he watches the sun set. They wait a bit longer for the sky to grow completely dark, inky black except for the stars.

 

Stiles cuts his palm first, then hands his knife to his older self. He lets the blood drop in the correct places, then lights the candles. The older Stiles stands in the center of the circle, Stiles standing directly opposite and they begin chanting.

 

Stiles thinks about home, about family, about the future. He imagines his magic like a cloak, and tries to wrap the older Stiles in it.

 

A bright light surrounds him as he starts to flicker in and out of existence, kind of like the transporter on _Star Trek_. He thinks he sees shapes on the outside of the circle, hears voices other than their own alongside, in the same language.

  
_This will work, this has to work, this will work._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering, Stiles definitely gets pregnant the first time he and Derek have sex. But older Stiles can’t say anything or he’ll mess up the timeline.


	5. April 3, 2046

Stella has committed the words in the notebook to memory.

 

> _ On the darkest night, _
> 
> _ In a field of her blooms, _
> 
> _ she dances, _
> 
> _ Surrounded by her blood, _
> 
> _ To bring back what was lost, _
> 
> _ To mend what was broken. _
> 
>   
>    
> 

XVX

 

VII                                O

 

XI                     XVII                   XX

  
  


IX                              II

 

XVIII

 

She and her Dad had tried to make sense of the words, the roman numerals below delicately arranged in a circle.

 

They’d figured out bits and pieces, the clipped article about the  _ Trientalis latifolia _ lending the most clues so far. 

 

“Pacific starflowers”, her Dad laughs, after looking them up. Stella remembers picking them in the forest with Papa, telling her that he’d dreamed about them when he was pregnant with her. 

 

“I knew you were going to be my Star, long before I’d met you,” he told her as he weaved them into a crown for her hair.

 

After that they’d figured she was the dancer mentioned. The blood was their family.

 

“Do you think they’ll all help out?” she asks Dad, voice quiet.

 

“They’d do anything to get Papa back, I’m sure of it,” he tells her, serious once more.

 

They work late into the night, and finally Dad falls asleep sitting upright on the couch, exhausted. It’s been a long day. Stella covers him with a blanket and heads up to room, figuring that they’ll need their rest for whatever ceremony they’ll have to perform.

 

She accidentally knocks her glasses off of her nightstand when she reaches to turn out the light. She groans and rolls off of her bed, scrambling to find them so she doesn’t forget in the morning. She notices a box under her bed she’d put there not long after Papa had disappeared.

 

Sleep can wait.

 

\- - - -

 

Derek wakes up on the couch, the coffee table covered in notes and books and cards he hadn’t seen in years.

 

“Sta- Stella?” he calls out cautiously.

 

“In the kitchen!” she replies, and emerges with a giant mug of coffee, her eyes wild with inspiration. She’s the spitting image of Stiles when he’d gotten an idea during all night research sessions, down to the dark circles and smile.

 

“Have you slept at all?” he asks, a little worried. She is still a growing teenager, pulling an all nighter like this could affect her growth. Not that it ever stopped Stiles.

 

“Nope,” she grins and tries to take a sip of coffee. Derek wrangles the cup out of her hands, feeling his body protest as he gets off of the couch. 

 

“You’ve obviously had enough,” he tells her, and drinks it himself. He expects it to taste the same as how Stiles drank his coffee, more milk and sugar than actual coffee. Instead, it’s closer to his preferences, a few packets of sugar and no creamer at all.

 

Maybe Stella takes after him in a few ways, after all.

 

“I tried to go to sleep, but I found my box and had a couple more ideas,” Stella says, pouting a little and making grabby hands at the mug. He lets her take a sip, and they settle down in front of another notebook filled with her scrawl.

 

“Papa gave me some magic stuff for my fifteenth birthday, remember?” she asks, and he nods. “I, I put it all away when he- when he  _ disappeared _ . I didn’t want to get reminded-”

 

Derek knows that Stiles had been training her just before he vanished. In fact, they’d gone to the woods to train when it had happened.

 

Though much of the past three years has passed in a fog of grief, he does remember Stella shutting herself away from magic. Their emissary had tried to talk to him about getting her back into training, saying something about her potential being wasted like this.

 

He’d growled at her, saying something about letting Stella mourn in her own way. He’d blamed magic itself for Stiles’ loss and thought it best for Stella to stay away, to protect her from it.

 

“Anyway, I found it again, and Papa definitely prepared for this ahead of time, because it contained more clues than just that notebook did.” She pulls out a weathered deck of Tarot cards. “Papa told me that these have been passed down for generations since before Grandma’s family left the old country. And look,” she passes him a card and points to the top.

 

“XI” reads the top. A king in a red robe holds a sword aloft below the numbers, and at the bottom it reads “Justice”.

 

“So?” he asks, slightly confused.

 

“Well, if you match the Roman Numerals in his diagram to Tarot cards...” she says, arranging cards in a circle.

 

_ The Chariot. The High Priestess. The Sun. Justice. Judgement. The Moon. The Wise Man. The Fool. _

 

In the center of the circle, she places one that reads  _ The Star _ .

 

“You get to read the future somehow?”

 

“No, look. I’m the star, right?” Stella points to the card in the center.  “And if I’m surrounded by my blood,” she gestures to the cards on the outside.

 

“Each card represents someone in our family,” he infers.

 

“Exactly! Some of them are easier to interpret than others…”

 

“Lauren’s the sun and Dianna’s the moon,” Derek says. He remembers when Stiles was pregnant with the twins and insisting on a Roman god motif, naming the girls Lauren Apollonia and Dianna Claire, after the god of the sun and the goddess of the moon. (He’d thought Stiles was just being cheeky about werewolves.)

 

“We just have to figure out the rest of the cards, and then we’ll be able to create a summoning circle to bring Papa back.”

 

He can’t remember being prouder of his daughter.

 

Together, they create a list of their family members, trying to match who would go where in the circle. 

 

“Ben would be the wise man,” Derek decides, after staring at the cards for a bit. Stella had looked up the meanings of the cards in one of the books in her box. “It’s also called the Hermit,” he jokes and Stella laughs, writing his name carefully next to the number on the diagram she’d copied.

 

“Do you think Uncle Scott and Aunt Lydia should included in this? I know it says ‘blood’, but they’re pack.”

 

“As long as Scott’s the Fool and not me, I think it would work”

 

“The Fool means free spirited, not necessarily that he’s stupid,” Stella defends her favorite Uncle the same way Stiles would. It makes Derek smile. Even though it’s been years since there was any true animosity between Scott and himself, they still insult each other like brothers. Derek personally thinks that Scott never got over Stiles becoming a parent too early, and Derek agrees with him every time it’s brought up.

 

“If we include them, Aunt Lydia would the Priestess, Grandpa would be Justice, Ben has Wise Man, Uncle Scott has the Fool, Lauren has the Sun, Dianna has the Moon… All that’s left is the Chariot and Judgement.”

 

Derek reads through the meanings of the cards in the book, and considers for a moment.

 

> _ Judgement is about finding absolution. Through a period of self-evaluation, you will feel cleansed of your ‘sins’, wrongdoings and mistakes, and you will finally be released of your guilt and sorrow about the past. This represents a wonderful purging process and will leave you feeling refreshed and ready to take on any new challenges. _
> 
>  

He reads the passage aloud to Stella. When he’s finished, he notices that she’s stilled and is staring at him now.

 

“Stella,” he starts,  “I know that I can’t just apologize about the past few years and have you forgive me, but I can try to explain things I guess?” She nods slowly.

 

“You know it’s hard for me to express myself. With your brothers and sisters, since they’re all wolves, they can kind of… pick it up? And your Papa was always… good at reading me anyway, since we first met, really.” His speech is stilted and slow. He was never any good at talking things through, and he’s hoping she can see the apology for what it is.

 

“I  _ am _ proud of you, Star, and I know Papa will be even prouder when we get him back, I just…”

 

“Really suck at communication?” she supplies, quietly with a small smile. She leans towards him a little, and initiates a hug, for the first time in longer than he can remember. He squeezes her, gently, still aware of her humanity. She squeezes back, and-

 

“What the hell is with this mess?” Lauren calls out from the entryway. Leo, her youngest, is perched on her hip, gnawing on a teeth ring. “Did Stella rip up the hou-” she stops, looking at them both. Stella wriggles out of the hug, going straight for her nephew.

 

“Nice to see you’re getting along again, but I’m a little confused with all of this-” she gestures to the notes, cards, books and cups of coffee littered around the living room. “Is Stella doing a project?”

 

“Kind of,” Stella replies, letting Leo play with her fingers.

 

“I came to see if you wanted to come to breakfast with us before Michael goes back to New York, but an explanation might be better, first,” Lauren says, recognizing the occult symbols and books.

 

“We need to call the whole pack in for a meeting. Get comfortable, it’s going to take a while,” Derek tells her. He reaches towards Leo, who Stella gives up with ease. Leo instinctively rubs his face against Derek’s, recognizing his Alpha and grandfather with joy.

 

\- - - -

 

The pack meets in the den of the house, which Papa always found hilarious. Stella feels a little nervous and wishes she could find some humor before presenting what they’d found.

 

It’s just her family and pack, but as a teenager and non-wolf, she never felt like part of the discussion. She’d mostly just played with her cousins during meetings, and, once they’d arrived, started babysitting her nieces and nephews.

 

After everyone greets each other, and settles down, her Dad starts to speak.

 

“Last night, after the memorial service, Stella and I found some things in the attic that change the circumstances of Stiles’ disappearance. It lead us to some clues that might help us get him back. Stella can explain a little better.”

 

There is an eerie silence in the room as Stella stands and moves to take her Dad’s spot. He stands behind her, encouraging, and she can feel the Pack staring.

 

Stella takes a deep breath and starts speaking.

 

She explains about the notebook, and shows them everything they’d found. She tells them about the research that they’d done, the ritual they’d come up with. Stella explains the role each member will need to play.

 

“It has to be tonight, on the new moon,” Aunt Lydia says, eyeing the notebook. At least she’s on board with the whole thing.

 

“Who else is willing to participate?” Dad asks from behind her, not even using his Alpha voice.

 

The pack is unanimous, they will help.

 

From then on, the house is bustling with pack members trying to set up the ritual properly. Ben finds the location of the clearing, Dianna helps the children gather the flowers needed, Uncle Scott speaks gruffly with Dad about the logistics of getting everyone there. Lauren coordinates for childcare, and what the pack members who aren’t part of the ritual will be doing while it occurs. Michael researches the precise time of night when it will be darkest.

 

Aunt Lydia helps Stella gather the materials, and talks her through setting up the ritual circle, helping correct her pronunciation on the ancient language she’ll need to use.

 

\- - - -

 

When night comes, her family gathers in the clearing with her, each one determined and supportive. The pack members who aren’t part of the ritual watch silently from the edges of the clearing, vigilant. It takes a few moments to get everyone in the right place, but they’re all focused, ready to help her get Papa back. 

 

They stand in a circle around her, palms spread to the dark sky.

 

Stella starts to chant, in an ancient language she once fumbled over, growing surer and surer of the words.

 

Nothing happens.

 

Her chanting becomes desperate, her gentle swaying becoming a frenzied dance. 

 

Tears stream down her face. This has to work. It has to. Her family has joined in on the chanting, and it starts to roar in her ears. She finds the spark deep within herself, the one she’d smothered that day when Papa had died to protect her. She imagines it growing like a plant in her stomach, stem shooting up her throat, leaves unfurling and petals spreading out until she is choking on the flowers in her mouth. She wraps herself in the light and warmth it provides, and focuses on her last memory of her Papa’s face, staring horrified at something behind her. 

 

_ Come back come back come back, _ her heart beats.

 

\- - - -

 

Stella’s skin has started to glow. The flowers she has draped herself in seem to be disintegrating, melting into the white glow emanating from his daughter.

 

Derek never understood much of what Stiles told him about magic. Could only sometimes feel it in the air when his husband used it to protect himself or their family. He’d always associated the warmth of his mate’s emotions with their bond, but he was wrong. It was magic.

 

The power rippling through the air, coming off of Stella like a vortex, is palpable, stronger than anything he’d ever felt, even when Stiles was using the most power he could.

 

He’d misunderstood Stiles. As a child of magic, Stella was not only vulnerable, she was powerful. His instincts to protect weren’t wrong, they were misplaced. She was perfectly able to defend herself using her magic. She didn’t need to be shielded from the world, from danger, only guided away from manipulation.

 

And the Fae-

 

The Fae had tried to take her from them because of this power. Stiles had exchanged his life to protect her from that.

 

He’d spent so much time grieving the loss of his mate that he hadn’t comprehended the sacrifice Stiles had made. Why he’d made it.

 

The white glow slowly moves away from Stella, coalescing into a vaguely human sized shape about a foot in front of her.

 

Derek’s eyes grow wider as he feels the bond with Stiles stir within his heart. It was never broken, just asleep and-

 

Stiles materializes in front of Stella, just in time to catch her as she collapses from the exhaustion. 

 

Derek’s bond sings and the entire family breaks the circle, rushing in towards their lost patriarch.

 

\- - - -

 

Stiles feels his familial and pack bonds snap into place, as his vision shimmers between the version of the darkened forest with just himself staring back and one with a glowing woman, dressed in all white. She collapses in front of him and he catches her. As he brushes the hair away from her face, he barely has time to recognize his Stella before his family descends upon him.

 

_ wonder _

_ Papa _

_ missed you so much _

_ pain _

_ love love love _

_ where were you? _

_ grief _

_ Stiles _

 

All come rushing in a tidal wave as his entire pack surrounds him, touching him with their minds and hands and hearts. He feels alive again.

 

He shushes them, lets them hold him a minute longer and locks eyes with Derek, who’s standing alone at the edge of the clearing. His family notices the change in the air, moving out of the way. Lauren gently takes Stella out of his arms, and Stiles feels himself being drawn like a magnet to his mate.

 

“Three years, we thought you were dead,” Derek whispers in a ragged voice, holding him so tightly Stiles thinks he’ll bruise. Shit, he was gone longer than he thought.

 

Derek’s hair has gone completely gray now. There are new lines on his face Stiles will have to memorize. The pain he feels in Derek’s heart is unimaginable.

 

“It’s only been a day for me,” Stiles tells him, feeling guilty. “I’m back now, and I plan on sticking around for a lot longer.” Derek’s mouth is crushing against his.

 

It’s a testament to how long he’s been gone. Before he’d left, his kids would groan whenever he and Derek showed affection with one another. Now they are completely silent, and he can still feel their eyes on him. He gently pushes himself away from Derek, and turns back towards his children. They’re all holding onto each other, and each one is changed in ways he couldn’t have imagined before he left. His heart breaks for them, he’s tried his whole life to protect them from the pain of the world, and he’s failed.

 

Stella stirs in Lauren’s arms, opening her eyes and staring at her sisters.

 

“Did it work?” she asks, voice tiny and hopeful. 

 

“It did,” Dianna tells her, beaming brightly. Stella looks over at Derek and Stiles holding another still, and her eyes well up with tears. Stiles runs towards his children, Derek close behind. They hold each other, a family reunited once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! The End is here.
> 
> I do have a bit more in this 'verse, focusing more on Stiles and Derek's kids but I'm not sure how to put that all together. 
> 
> My simple guide to 2046:
> 
> Derek is 57, Stiles is supposed to be 51 (buuuuut time travel stuff so I guess his body is 48? He makes even more cradle-robbing jokes when they figure this out).  
> Their kids: Lauren and Dianna are 32, Ben is 27, Michael is 25 and Stella is 18.  
> Lauren and Dianna have spouses and kids, while Ben is a single dad. Michael is still Figuring that Shit Out. He has time, don't worry Michael.  
> There are six grandbabies of varying ages.  
> The Sheriff is almost 80 holy crap.
> 
>  
> 
> The passage about Judgement is direct from biddytarot.com (aka my best friend this chapter for figuring out tarot stuff.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
